Mark of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation, Book 1) (18 page)

“‘Tis why you went there to begin with. You wanted to meet him.”

His Ma’s observation caught him off guard. He nodded. “Aye, I did.”

“But your path swayed when you sensed McKayla. You could have found a way to meet him but once you saw her you didnae want to risk it.” She touched his side gently. “Because of this. Because she meant so much.”

“Aye,” he whispered.

“True love. ‘Tis so good.” Arianna’s eyes glistened for a moment. “Worth it all, Adlin MacLomain would say.”

“Would he?”

“Oh, aye!” She smiled. “Adlin was a believer in love. And he was a good man. The verra best.” Arianna pulled back and took his hands. “He brought many great loves together including me and your Da’s. Many would say it was the rings and the Irish gods and Lord knows that was part of it. But it took a verra meddlesome MacLomain wizard to make sure all the dots were connected.”

“What of him as a leader though?”

“Och, son, look around you!” Arianna squeezed his hands. “He birthed this clan. Born of a Celtic king and a Druidess, he was immortal until he was no more. Those tales around the fires are true. All of them. Even those about the Defiances…
especially
the tales about those.”

“All gone now,” he said.

“As far as we know.” The corner of her lip inched up slightly and a renewed sparkle lit her old eyes. “But mayhap not. Mayhap ‘tis like your Da says and both the magi of the Defiances and rings culminated somehow in your mark. I cannae ken why or how but what if? It could mean something truly great.”

The very idea that the burning mark determined to bar him from the future was a good thing seemed impossible. Then again, the only thing that seemed threatening about it was the possibility that it might keep him from McKayla. That would be devastating.

Arianna’s wise eyes seemed to follow his every thought and a mother’s concern soon overrode. “Enough with heavy thoughts this eve, my son.” Her slender hands cupped his cheeks. “It will all fall into place. It always does. Now ‘tis time to be merry for your clan and merry with your wife, aye?”

Colin could think of nothing better. Kissing her soundly on either cheek, he pulled his Ma close and said, “I do love you something fierce.”

“Aye,” she whispered. “And I you.” Arianna nodded toward McKayla, eyes a little more determined. “Go on now. Quick like.”

When Colin turned he understood the new urgency in his Ma’s voice.

McKayla was standing with her back to the wall.

Nessa MacLeod, arms crossed over her chest, stood in front of her.

“Not sure I need to answer. I suspect you know exactly where I’m from.”

Nessa looked McKayla over once more. “You’ve barely any breasts, pegs for legs and that hair. ‘Tis unsightly to say the least. Obviously you are not from around here.”

McKayla was becoming more and more irritated by the second. “My breasts are a decent B cup and my legs are long enough to get me around.” She fingered her locks and shrugged. “As for the hair, it’s a lot less maintenance. Not such a bad thing.”

“B cup?” Nessa frowned. “What does that mean?” She stood up straighter, showing off her ample cleavage. “It doesnae matter. What does matter is—”

“Is what?” Colin appeared through the crowd so suddenly even McKayla didn’t see him coming.

Loch Nessa, as McKayla had taken to calling her, cocked her head in Colin’s direction. “What matters is that she’s here, aye my laird?”

Summer heat prevailed and it was hard not to notice that he’d removed his tunic and tied back his hair.
Sweet Jesus.
Though his plaid was still wrapped over his shoulder, muscles rippled everywhere. Over his wide shoulders, down his arms, chiseled and well-defined right down his chest to his washboard abs. Mouth desert dry, McKayla tried to keep it from forming a wide ‘o’.

“It does make quite a bit of difference,” he conceded and wrapped his arm around McKayla’s lower back, reeling her in closer. His fingers brushed just beneath her breast. “‘Twas pleasant to see you, Nessa. Good eve.”

Colin scooped McKayla up and headed toward the stairs. This time when he did, the whole room exploded with applause and cheers. The laird was officially carrying his bride off to bed. She didn’t need to be from the medieval period to gather that much. Thankfully, he moved fast and in no time they were down the hall and traveling up the next set of stairs.

“Let’s go outside for a bit,” she suggested.

This time when they returned to the wall walk, Colin sat her on the ledge high above the ground below.

“Good thing I’m not afraid of heights,” she commented, peering down. “It’s a long drop.”

Colin pushed her dress up so that he could stand between her legs and wrap his arms around her lower back. “I’m a shifter. I’d sprout wings and catch you if you fell.”

It was hard to imagine him shifting into anything other than Trevor.

Still miffed, she pulled at the top of her dress.

With a tepid frown, he said, “Now I know you didnae let Nessa get to you.”

McKayla peered down at her cleavage. “She’s no more than a high school bully. I get that you left her at the altar. I’d be mad too. But did she have to attack my poor boobs?”

“There’s nothing poor about your
boobs
, lass.” A shit-eating grin crawled onto his face. “I mean
breasts
.”

It was hard not to grin in return. “I said boobs. You can too.”

“Now who’s in high school?”

No doubt. Loch Nessa only dragged her down for a few minutes. Before that the night, however short lived, had been beyond wonderful. McKayla bit her lip and tried to ignore how masculine Colin looked as she fingered his tartan. “William and your Da are pretty amazing men. I learned a lot about them tonight. About Coira, Malcolm’s mom. I still can’t believe she was from the 1800’s. The colonial period! And lived in my house. Just like your mom did. It’s all so surreal.” She shook her head. “All of it. The rings, the love, all remarkable stories.”

Colin watched her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Aye, they are. I’m glad you think so as well.”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘Tis just a lot to take in all at once. How are you…really?”

That he cared meant so much. “I’m good.” She paused and then said, “Better than I thought I’d be.”

“You amaze me,” he murmured, his large hands covering her thighs but not initiating anything further. It seemed worry prevailed over lust.

McKayla shook her head, sharply aware of her surroundings. The warm summer wind. The lap of waves in the distance. The echo of bagpipes off the castle walls. “I wish you would have swooped me back here the day we met.” She leaned back, trusting that he’d hold her. “I wish we would’ve skipped all the years in between and went from the threat of a sandy laptop straight to this. That would’ve been perfect.”

“Would it have?” His warm hands held her tighter. “But what of your novel? Words that will touch so many?”

She stared into the star flecked sky. “Somebody else would have written those words, eventually.” McKayla closed her eyes and let the wind brush over her. “Besides, I’ve always believed that all great ideas exist in a constant stream of energy that runs over us all. Those who are meant to receive them, will. Another writer would have come up with the same idea and written it just as well.”

Yanked forward but still held tight, McKayla had no choice but to look at Colin. “That is where you’re wrong, lass. While I agree with your theory that ideas are out there in the universe for the taking, in fact I know it to be true, what you did with your novel could have only ever been done by you.”

Writers always struggled with the idea that someone else could write their story better. But right now, looking into his sincere, concerned eyes, she had no desire to let him down. “And it will be a best seller.”

“Aye, it will.” His grasp shifted, allowing one hand to wander. “As will everything you write.”

Now
this
was Trevor territory. A discussion she’d only ever had with him. Yet it wasn’t him she wanted to talk with right now, because what he implied meant she’d be going home. An uncomfortable sensation rolled through her.
Fear
. “When I go home, will things be as they were…with Trevor I mean?”

Colin’s eyes remained hidden in shadows, his answer vague. “Unlikely.”

Before she could respond he shook his head and pulled her closer. “Nay, I promised you truth.” Silence fell as he gathered his words. “My home is here now. I willnae be going back to the twenty-first century lass. ‘Tis too risky.”

It felt as though her limbs started to freeze over. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he murmured, touching the circle tattoo. “Keeps me here. I cannae explain it save to say ‘tis a good thing, something of my ancestors.”

Now her limbs were all but frozen. She whispered, “This is all part of what I said on Skype. What Leslie heard. His is the circle that never connects. A means to let me in. If ever it closes, we are forever lost.”

“So it seems,” he said softly. “‘Tis true. Somehow the Claddagh rings of the past symbolize the circle and the Defiances make up the time-travel aspect.”

Eyes wide, she said, “Your Da and William told me about both. All of it.” She shook her head. “Complicated, interesting, even I couldn’t come up with…”

“With what?” he asked, hands on her thighs now. “Because what you wrote in your novel rivals all of it.”

“Does it?” she asked. “I don’t think so.” But she wasn’t beyond being curious. “Colin, why did my hero have your name? And why MacLeod as a last name, one that clearly correlates with your abandoned marriage to Nessa?”

McKayla expected him to hesitate, to try to make sense of things, but he didn’t. “My guess is because your subconscious was trying to pull you closer to me. I’ve no other explanation.”

“Isn’t that a little too hard to believe?” she asked.

Now Colin looked to the sky, the mountains in the distance. “If there is one thing I’ve learned, lass, nothing is too hard to believe when it comes to my clan, or when it comes to the magic that is part of my verra upbringing.”

Caught in his sudden melancholy she stared. Not at the majestic castle looming ever taller beyond his substantial height, but at his face. A face chiseled and formed by the choices he’d made. While she knew him to be in his twenties, his face was already that of an early thirty-something. A face pre-mapped by harsh decisions and regrets. He was about to enter his prime but if Colin wasn’t careful, he’d be middle aged by tomorrow.

And yes she heard him say he wouldn’t be returning to her century but for now she chose not to believe it. If things were really as magical as he said they were, there stood a very good chance he was wrong.

Speaking of magic.

With everything going on she’d pushed what Caitlin told her to the back of her mind. Yet it was time she understood more, no matter how much it frightened her. “Caitlin said I was a witch. That all of us are.” She cleared her throat, afraid to ask. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I wondered how long it would take you to ask.” Both his tone and expression were compassionate. “‘Tis nothing you should fear. It willnae hurt you.” He tapped her forehead above and between her eyes. “It resides here.” Then he touched her abdomen. “And here. Yours, while not overly powerful yet, is rare.”

“How so? And what do you mean
yet
?” she whispered.

“It seems you may have the power to not only take away pain but mayhap heal. As to
yet
, I suspect your power will grow, especially now that you’re here.”

“The ability to heal,” she murmured. “That doesn’t seem so bad. A little unnerving, maybe.”

“Nothing for you to worry overmuch about,” he assured. “You will need to be schooled in your gift so that you learn to better control it.”

She thought of the circle tattoo. “So that’s why your pain faded when I touched the circle.”

Colin nodded. “Verra likely.”

She leaned her head against his chest. This was, as he said, a lot to take on. However, she felt more ready to handle everything now than she had been before. She could do this,
had
to do this. But for now, she wanted to step away from all of it for a little while. Whether legal or not, this was her wedding night and she wanted to enjoy it. Theirs was a story she had no doubt would unravel soon enough.

It seemed he was of a like mind because he murmured against her ear, “I’ve had refreshments brought up to our chamber. What say we go enjoy them?”

She nodded and started to pull away. But Colin, as usual, was having none of it. Before she knew it he’d once more scooped her up, determined it seemed that she not walk tonight. But McKayla wasn’t about to complain. Nope. The truth was being carried around by this strapping highlander was starting to become her preferred method of travel.

Not surprisingly, their chamber was a welcome romantic oasis. Fresh cut flowers were scattered about and the skins over the windows pulled back, allowing a warm summer breeze to blow through the room. A few wall torches flickered, just enough to cast a low, seductive glow over the mammoth bed she so admired. When he lowered her, it was not to the bed’s all-too-tempting surface. Instead her feet met the floor. He spun her around and started unfastening the dress.

McKayla held onto the bedpost that’d supported her earlier. Save this time, Colin hadn’t left the room. No, this time his nimble fingers were working ever so efficiently. Then again, so were his lips. One gentle kiss at a time he made his way down the side of her neck. It was impossible not to shiver with awareness when he pushed the dress down over her shoulders.

When he lowered his body along with the dress, she grasped the post tighter. Eyes closed, McKayla focused on every subliminal touch, every manipulative caress of the man kneeling behind her. One hand tenderly rode up her now exposed hip bone, tracing the curves of her pelvis then stomach, while the other hand worked the material down her legs.

She groaned when he flicked his tongue, trailing down her spine and gasped when he nipped the upper right hand side of her behind. Biting her lower lip, she began to melt when his hand abandoned the dress and rode up her inner thigh. The touch was powerful and effective if for no other reason than that it was done ever so lightly, as if a feather brushed against her.

With an almost desperate grasp on the post she leaned back slightly when his agile, talented fingers dusted her clitoris. To turn into his touch became impossible when he stood; locking her into position, one hand still manipulating below while his other hand caressed first one breast then the other. Again his lips met her neck, hot breath fanning her sensitive skin.

Moaning, ready, she pushed back against him.

Aware of the hitch in his breathing and his burning chest against her back, she ground against his thick erection. Both aroused and frustrated by the material between them, she almost sighed with relief when he tore away his plaid.

Astonished, McKayla yelped when she was spun and tossed across the bed, landing square on her back. Yes she was small but he’d handled her as though she weighed nothing. There was no time to scramble into what she hoped would be a more enticing position before he spread her legs and came over her. Like earlier, he had that same wild look in his eyes. Desire, yearning, desperation.

McKayla’s eyes rounded as his nude form rose over hers. Outside in the storm it’d been too dark to see everything. Now by firelight every glorious well-defined muscle was visible, most especially the muscle that mattered most.
Dear Lord!
There was little time to admire him before his lips came down on hers. Now when they kissed it was needy, ravenous, synchronized. She pressed her hands against his chest and felt the hard contours before curving her fingers over his broad shoulders.